History and possibility: An interview with Noam Chomsky
Vaughn A. Cartwright and Emmanuel J. Tellez

On July 29, 2010, Vaughn Cartwright and Emmanuel Tellez
interviewed Noam Chomsky, prolific author and activist, on
behalf of the Platypus Review, to discuss the history of the
Left and the state of radical politics today. What follows is
an edited transcript of the interview.

Vaughn Cartwright: In our society, it behooves
intellectuals to avoid radical opposition to capitalism
and the state. This was as true in the 1960s when
you wrote your famous essay, “The Responsibility of
Intellectuals,” as it is now. In that essay you argue that
intellectuals collude in a mass deception that serves the
interests of institutions and the state. Have intellectuals
fully discharged their responsibility by breaking with
this collusion by telling the truth, as they understand
it? Does “truth-telling” have the potential to radicalize
people today?
Noam Chomsky: Well, the title of that article was
intended to be double-edged. There is an official
responsibility of intellectuals to be servants of power.
That’s not just in the United States, but everywhere.
But there is also a moral responsibility which is quite
the opposite. In fact, you can only fulfill your moral
responsibility by rejecting your official responsibility.
It’s rare to find exceptions to this at any time in history.
Remember that history is written by intellectuals,
so they come out looking pretty good. But the ones
the historians talk about are mostly the dissident
intellectuals. They didn’t look good at the time, but
were persecuted in one way or another. Later, maybe
centuries later, they are vindicated. That goes back as far
as you like to go. There are very few counterexamples.
Emmanuel Tellez: But in that essay you also say there
is an information glut in which the truth can simply get
lost, so that telling the truth is not simply a matter of
truthfully reporting experience.
NC: Well, partly, there’s an information glut, but it’s
also something that Orwell actually described rather
well. You all read Animal Farm in elementary school, but
chances are you did not read the introduction to the book,
because it wasn’t published. While it may not be one of
Orwell’s greatest essays, it is worth taking a look at. In
it, he says the book is basically a satirical account of the
totalitarian enemy, but that the English shouldn’t feel
too complacent, because free England is not so different.
In England ideas can be suppressed without the use of
force. He gives a couple of rather weak examples, but

then expands on his point in a few lines which more or
less capture everything. Part of the reason, he says, is
that the press is owned by wealthy men who have every
interest in suppressing certain ideas. But the other
reason, which I think is much more important, concerns
education. You go to the best schools and have instilled
into you the understanding that there are certain things
that it just wouldn’t do to say, think, or see. That’s what
you find all the time. Currently, for instance, there’s this
big furor about the Wiki leaks, which are interesting, but
not explosive in my opinion. At the same time as the Wiki
leaks furor rages on in the newspaper, there is a story
that goes entirely unreported in the United States. It
was reported in England, but even there it didn’t arouse
much interest. It was a story about a study reported
in one of the medical journals that investigated the
aftermath of the Battle of Fallujah, the Iraqi city the U.S.
attacked in November 2004. The story reports dramatic
increases in infant mortality, cancer, and leukemia in
Fallujah, exceeding even those reported by survivors
of the atomic bombs that were dropped on Hiroshima
and Nagasaki in 1945. Amy Goodman reported it on
Democracy Now! but it wasn’t in the newspapers—
because that’s the kind of thing you’re not supposed to
hear or say.
ET: People can know that atrocities were committed in
Fallujah, but without any way of situating the bare facts,
the response seems limited to moral outrage. Arguably,
don’t we have more truth and less understanding today
than we did when you wrote “The Responsibility of
Intellectuals?” How do we account for the persistence
of the crisis in the face of readily available “dissident”
information? Is the moral responsibility you speak of
sufficient?
NC: The Internet now allows dissident voices to be
heard and offers a wider range of perspectives and
information as well. But for the large majority of the
population that doesn’t mean much. People do not have
the time or background even to know what to look for,
and we should not underestimate the effectiveness of
the dedicated programs of atomization of the population.
Anyone in the sciences knows that what you can do
alone is limited, and easily strays into error. Serious
work generally requires interaction among a community
of researchers. The same is true in trying to understand
something about what is happening in the world. One
of the reasons for the intense hostility to unions on the
part of business and other power centers is that they are

a democratizing force, offering ways for working people
with limited resources and opportunities to join together
to develop their own ideas and a sensible framework for
interpreting what pours out in an incessant flow from
the ideological institutions. That’s only one of the many
devices employed to create what is an ideal society from
the perspective of the masters: one in which the basic
social dyad is you and the tube. So the term “readily
available” is accurate in a narrow sense, but availability
in principle does not suffice for understanding and
action. Moral outrage in itself is not worth much unless
it leads to significant action, as it often has, and does
now, too. That’s how the world slowly and haltingly
becomes a better place, though not without regular
reversals.
ET: What I have experienced, as far as telling people the
truth, is that it actually makes people feel less powerful.
In other words, the resistance is deeply psychological
and not merely acquired by training, so to speak.
NC: That’s true. It should make people feel that there is
more they should do when, as mentioned before, toxic
effects in Fallujah are worse than the fallout from the
atom bomb.
VC: I’d like to turn the question of internationalism and
the Left in the 20th century. Internationalism is a crucial
aspiration for the Left. Marx suggested that there is
little chance for one country to overcome capitalism,
war, and other profound limitations on human freedom
without the spread of social revolution throughout the
world. Internationalism designates collaboration among
politically organized workers across national borders.
But, beyond this, what role should internationalism play
in the Left today? Is internationalism even necessary for
overcoming capitalism? The question seems particularly
pressing at a time when U.S. imperialism claims for
itself the mantle of internationalism and the defense of
human rights and has done so, it must be said, with a
certain plausibility.
NC: In the United States it would be possible to do
without international support. In Bolivia, on the other
hand, you need international support. It’s a matter
of power. Every labor union, as you know, is called
an international, but none of them are international,
they’re all organized along national lines. But there
are, in my opinion, emerging signs of the first ever
true International. The first four were not genuinely
international, I don’t think. The First was strictly Europe-

based, and was more or less destroyed by Marx, who
didn’t like the fact that the French anarchists were
getting too powerful. The Second International collapsed
in the First World War. The Third International was an
offshoot of the Russian state. The Fourth International
was what it remains, marginal. But the World Social
Forum is a real international and it has prospects.
Maybe they won’t be realized, but it succeeds in
bringing people together from all over the world, huge
numbers of people from every walk of life. It usually
meets alongside Via Campesina, an international
peasant organization, and includes environmentalists,
farmers, and activists of all kinds. It is constructive, too.
I have been there a couple times. They have serious
discussions and by now they’ve branched out all over the
world into regional social forums. There was just one in
Detroit. I heard from people just this week that there’s
one in Boston. From these beginnings, it could grow into
a real bottom-up international, not something created
from the top to fulfill some power project.
As for successful international activities, take the
case of Bolivia, which may in fact be the most democratic
country in the world today. Its majority indigenous
population basically took over and elected somebody
from their own ranks to take on serious issues. It began
with the water wars in the year 2000. The World Bank,
the treasury, and the Bechtel Corporation were trying to
privatize water, which may sound nice in some economics
seminar, but it means people end up having no access
to water. There was a lot of protest that grew into a
virtual insurrection. And there were a couple of very
media-savvy people there who managed to turn it into an
international event, one that happened to coincide with
the big protest in Washington against the World Bank, as I
recall. It succeeded in linking up with the demonstrations
in Washington. They also had demonstrations in other
countries, at Bechtel corporate headquarters, etc.
This was all timed with the peaking of the actions in
Cochabamba, Bolivia. The international combination of
events made a big difference. Bechtel fled the country
and the World Bank pulled out. It’s interesting to see the
reactions—I was just down in Southern Colombia last
week and in one of the peasant villages the government’s
also trying to privatize water. But the government has
learned from the Bolivian experience. So, the government
is not doing it publicly anymore. They are trying to pick off
small regions one at a time.
VC: The First, Second, and Third Internationals united
parties which, in one sense or another, advanced some
"Interview" continues on page 3

www.platypus1917.org
The University of Chicago Student Government
School of the Art Institute of Chicago Student Government
DePaul University
New School University
The Platypus Affiliated Society

The Platypus Review is funded by:

28

4

Communism and Israel

Initiative Sozialistisches Forum
Philip Longo

3
Articles will typically range in length from 750–2,500 words, but longer pieces
will also be considered. Please send article submissions and inquiries about this
project to: review_editor@platypus1917.org. All submissions should conform to the
Chicago Manual of Style.
Web Editor
Gabriel Gaster

Statement of Purpose

Editor-in-Chief
Nathan L. Smith

Taking stock of the universe of positions and goals that constitutes leftist
politics today, we are left with the disquieting suspicion that a deep commonality underlies the apparent variety: What exists today is built upon the desiccated
remains of what was once possible.
In order to make sense of the present, we find it necessary to disentangle the
vast accumulation of positions on the Left and to evaluate their saliency for the
possible reconstitution of emancipatory politics in the present. Doing this implies
a reconsideration of what is meant by the Left.
Our task begins from what we see as the general disenchantment with the
present state of progressive politics. We feel that this disenchantment cannot be
cast off by sheer will, by simply “carrying on the fight,” but must be addressed
and itself made an object of critique. Thus we begin with what immediately confronts us.
The Platypus Review is motivated by its sense that the Left is disoriented.
We seek to be a forum among a variety of tendencies and approaches on the
Left—not out of a concern with inclusion for its own sake, but rather to provoke
disagreement and to open shared goals as sites of contestation. In this way, the
recriminations and accusations arising from political disputes of the past may be
harnessed to the project of clarifying the object of leftist critique.
The Platypus Review hopes to create and sustain a space for interrogating and
clarifying positions and orientations currently represented on the Left, a space in
which questions may be raised and discussions pursued that would not otherwise
take place. As long as submissions exhibit a genuine commitment to this project, all
kinds of content will be considered for publication.

Book Review: Osha Neumann, Up Against the Wall,
Motherf**ker : A Memoir of the ‘60s, with Notes for
Next Time
Chris Mansour

1

History and possibility: An interview with Noam Chomsky

Vaughn A. Cartwright and Emmanuel J. Tellez

2

I can’t go on, I’ll go on: A response to “Questionnaire on ‘The
Contemporary’” in October and “What is Contemporary Art?”
in e-flux

Submission guidelines

Staff

Issue #28 | October 2010

The

Platypus Review

Issue #28 / October 2010

The Platypus Review

Issue #28 / October 2010

1

History and possibility: An interview with Noam Chomsky
Vaughn A. Cartwright and Emmanuel J. Tellez

On July 29, 2010, Vaughn Cartwright and Emmanuel Tellez
interviewed Noam Chomsky, prolific author and activist, on
behalf of the Platypus Review, to discuss the history of the
Left and the state of radical politics today. What follows is
an edited transcript of the interview.

Vaughn Cartwright: In our society, it behooves
intellectuals to avoid radical opposition to capitalism
and the state. This was as true in the 1960s when
you wrote your famous essay, “The Responsibility of
Intellectuals,” as it is now. In that essay you argue that
intellectuals collude in a mass deception that serves the
interests of institutions and the state. Have intellectuals
fully discharged their responsibility by breaking with
this collusion by telling the truth, as they understand
it? Does “truth-telling” have the potential to radicalize
people today?
Noam Chomsky: Well, the title of that article was
intended to be double-edged. There is an official
responsibility of intellectuals to be servants of power.
That’s not just in the United States, but everywhere.
But there is also a moral responsibility which is quite
the opposite. In fact, you can only fulfill your moral
responsibility by rejecting your official responsibility.
It’s rare to find exceptions to this at any time in history.
Remember that history is written by intellectuals,
so they come out looking pretty good. But the ones
the historians talk about are mostly the dissident
intellectuals. They didn’t look good at the time, but
were persecuted in one way or another. Later, maybe
centuries later, they are vindicated. That goes back as far
as you like to go. There are very few counterexamples.
Emmanuel Tellez: But in that essay you also say there
is an information glut in which the truth can simply get
lost, so that telling the truth is not simply a matter of
truthfully reporting experience.
NC: Well, partly, there’s an information glut, but it’s
also something that Orwell actually described rather
well. You all read Animal Farm in elementary school, but
chances are you did not read the introduction to the book,
because it wasn’t published. While it may not be one of
Orwell’s greatest essays, it is worth taking a look at. In
it, he says the book is basically a satirical account of the
totalitarian enemy, but that the English shouldn’t feel
too complacent, because free England is not so different.
In England ideas can be suppressed without the use of
force. He gives a couple of rather weak examples, but

then expands on his point in a few lines which more or
less capture everything. Part of the reason, he says, is
that the press is owned by wealthy men who have every
interest in suppressing certain ideas. But the other
reason, which I think is much more important, concerns
education. You go to the best schools and have instilled
into you the understanding that there are certain things
that it just wouldn’t do to say, think, or see. That’s what
you find all the time. Currently, for instance, there’s this
big furor about the Wiki leaks, which are interesting, but
not explosive in my opinion. At the same time as the Wiki
leaks furor rages on in the newspaper, there is a story
that goes entirely unreported in the United States. It
was reported in England, but even there it didn’t arouse
much interest. It was a story about a study reported
in one of the medical journals that investigated the
aftermath of the Battle of Fallujah, the Iraqi city the U.S.
attacked in November 2004. The story reports dramatic
increases in infant mortality, cancer, and leukemia in
Fallujah, exceeding even those reported by survivors
of the atomic bombs that were dropped on Hiroshima
and Nagasaki in 1945. Amy Goodman reported it on
Democracy Now! but it wasn’t in the newspapers—
because that’s the kind of thing you’re not supposed to
hear or say.
ET: People can know that atrocities were committed in
Fallujah, but without any way of situating the bare facts,
the response seems limited to moral outrage. Arguably,
don’t we have more truth and less understanding today
than we did when you wrote “The Responsibility of
Intellectuals?” How do we account for the persistence
of the crisis in the face of readily available “dissident”
information? Is the moral responsibility you speak of
sufficient?
NC: The Internet now allows dissident voices to be
heard and offers a wider range of perspectives and
information as well. But for the large majority of the
population that doesn’t mean much. People do not have
the time or background even to know what to look for,
and we should not underestimate the effectiveness of
the dedicated programs of atomization of the population.
Anyone in the sciences knows that what you can do
alone is limited, and easily strays into error. Serious
work generally requires interaction among a community
of researchers. The same is true in trying to understand
something about what is happening in the world. One
of the reasons for the intense hostility to unions on the
part of business and other power centers is that they are

a democratizing force, offering ways for working people
with limited resources and opportunities to join together
to develop their own ideas and a sensible framework for
interpreting what pours out in an incessant flow from
the ideological institutions. That’s only one of the many
devices employed to create what is an ideal society from
the perspective of the masters: one in which the basic
social dyad is you and the tube. So the term “readily
available” is accurate in a narrow sense, but availability
in principle does not suffice for understanding and
action. Moral outrage in itself is not worth much unless
it leads to significant action, as it often has, and does
now, too. That’s how the world slowly and haltingly
becomes a better place, though not without regular
reversals.
ET: What I have experienced, as far as telling people the
truth, is that it actually makes people feel less powerful.
In other words, the resistance is deeply psychological
and not merely acquired by training, so to speak.
NC: That’s true. It should make people feel that there is
more they should do when, as mentioned before, toxic
effects in Fallujah are worse than the fallout from the
atom bomb.
VC: I’d like to turn the question of internationalism and
the Left in the 20th century. Internationalism is a crucial
aspiration for the Left. Marx suggested that there is
little chance for one country to overcome capitalism,
war, and other profound limitations on human freedom
without the spread of social revolution throughout the
world. Internationalism designates collaboration among
politically organized workers across national borders.
But, beyond this, what role should internationalism play
in the Left today? Is internationalism even necessary for
overcoming capitalism? The question seems particularly
pressing at a time when U.S. imperialism claims for
itself the mantle of internationalism and the defense of
human rights and has done so, it must be said, with a
certain plausibility.
NC: In the United States it would be possible to do
without international support. In Bolivia, on the other
hand, you need international support. It’s a matter
of power. Every labor union, as you know, is called
an international, but none of them are international,
they’re all organized along national lines. But there
are, in my opinion, emerging signs of the first ever
true International. The first four were not genuinely
international, I don’t think. The First was strictly Europe-

based, and was more or less destroyed by Marx, who
didn’t like the fact that the French anarchists were
getting too powerful. The Second International collapsed
in the First World War. The Third International was an
offshoot of the Russian state. The Fourth International
was what it remains, marginal. But the World Social
Forum is a real international and it has prospects.
Maybe they won’t be realized, but it succeeds in
bringing people together from all over the world, huge
numbers of people from every walk of life. It usually
meets alongside Via Campesina, an international
peasant organization, and includes environmentalists,
farmers, and activists of all kinds. It is constructive, too.
I have been there a couple times. They have serious
discussions and by now they’ve branched out all over the
world into regional social forums. There was just one in
Detroit. I heard from people just this week that there’s
one in Boston. From these beginnings, it could grow into
a real bottom-up international, not something created
from the top to fulfill some power project.
As for successful international activities, take the
case of Bolivia, which may in fact be the most democratic
country in the world today. Its majority indigenous
population basically took over and elected somebody
from their own ranks to take on serious issues. It began
with the water wars in the year 2000. The World Bank,
the treasury, and the Bechtel Corporation were trying to
privatize water, which may sound nice in some economics
seminar, but it means people end up having no access
to water. There was a lot of protest that grew into a
virtual insurrection. And there were a couple of very
media-savvy people there who managed to turn it into an
international event, one that happened to coincide with
the big protest in Washington against the World Bank, as I
recall. It succeeded in linking up with the demonstrations
in Washington. They also had demonstrations in other
countries, at Bechtel corporate headquarters, etc.
This was all timed with the peaking of the actions in
Cochabamba, Bolivia. The international combination of
events made a big difference. Bechtel fled the country
and the World Bank pulled out. It’s interesting to see the
reactions—I was just down in Southern Colombia last
week and in one of the peasant villages the government’s
also trying to privatize water. But the government has
learned from the Bolivian experience. So, the government
is not doing it publicly anymore. They are trying to pick off
small regions one at a time.
VC: The First, Second, and Third Internationals united
parties which, in one sense or another, advanced some
"Interview" continues on page 3

www.platypus1917.org
The University of Chicago Student Government
School of the Art Institute of Chicago Student Government
DePaul University
New School University
The Platypus Affiliated Society

Submission guidelines
Taking stock of the universe of positions and goals that constitutes leftist
politics today, we are left with the disquieting suspicion that a deep commonality underlies the apparent variety: What exists today is built upon the desiccated
remains of what was once possible.
In order to make sense of the present, we find it necessary to disentangle the
vast accumulation of positions on the Left and to evaluate their saliency for the
possible reconstitution of emancipatory politics in the present. Doing this implies
a reconsideration of what is meant by the Left.
Our task begins from what we see as the general disenchantment with the
present state of progressive politics. We feel that this disenchantment cannot be
cast off by sheer will, by simply “carrying on the fight,” but must be addressed
and itself made an object of critique. Thus we begin with what immediately confronts us.
The Platypus Review is motivated by its sense that the Left is disoriented.
We seek to be a forum among a variety of tendencies and approaches on the
Left—not out of a concern with inclusion for its own sake, but rather to provoke
disagreement and to open shared goals as sites of contestation. In this way, the
recriminations and accusations arising from political disputes of the past may be
harnessed to the project of clarifying the object of leftist critique.
The Platypus Review hopes to create and sustain a space for interrogating and
clarifying positions and orientations currently represented on the Left, a space in
which questions may be raised and discussions pursued that would not otherwise
take place. As long as submissions exhibit a genuine commitment to this project, all
kinds of content will be considered for publication.

Statement of Purpose

Book Review: Osha Neumann, Up Against the Wall,
Motherf**ker : A Memoir of the ‘60s, with Notes for
Next Time

2

I can’t go on, I’ll go on: A response to “Questionnaire on ‘The
Contemporary’” in October and “What is Contemporary Art?”
in e-flux
Vaughn A. Cartwright and Emmanuel J. Tellez

History and possibility: An interview with Noam Chomsky

1

Issue #28 | October 2010

The

Platypus Review

Issue #28 / October 2010

2

I can’t go on, I’ll go on: A response to “Questionnaire on ‘The
1
Contemporary’” in October and “What is Contemporary Art?” in e-flux
Chris Mansour

All the things you would do gladly, oh without
enthusiasm, but gladly, all the things there seems no
reason for your not doing, and that you do not do! Can it
be we are not free? It might be worth looking into.
— Samuel Beckett, Molloy

IN WALTER BENJAMIN’S MAGNUM OPUS, The Arcades
Project, capitalist modernity is in several instances
depicted as a “hellish” existence.1 He describes this
condition as history continuing to truck along in its
course, but only doing so regressively.2 Hell, in short,
is “transiency without progress.”3 Here, Benjamin
is not voicing a Romantic sensibility; he does not
bemoan modernity for having trampled over the once
“harmonious” and organic way of life supposedly
experienced in premodern times. Nor did Benjamin
understand modernity theologically, as an age simply of
despair or damnation, even if he often used theological
terms in expressing this understanding. Rather, Benjamin
saw that modernity had achieved an unprecedented
qualitative leap in human history—one that could
actually further social freedoms for all of humanity in
ways hitherto unimaginable. So if modernity offered this
progressive possibility, why did he describe it as hellish
regression?
Benjamin’s imagery of the modern as Hell is set
in counterposition to the ultimately conservative idea
that social progress comes about evolutionarily through
the total proliferation of commodity production. It was
assumed that world conditions would improve naturally
within, and as part of, capitalism’s own dynamics, without
human intervention in the form of a politics seeking
to grasp those dynamics. Benjamin rightly saw this
bourgeois ideology as history resorting to myth, and
directed his energy towards fighting the idea that the
modern world has reached, or could reach, a kind of
“heaven on earth” in the context of its current material
configurations. Progress, for Benjamin, was not a matter
of stabilizing commodity production and relations (which
consequently deflects addressing the contradictions of
capital head on), but of overcoming commodity production
and relations in and through their inner potentialities. This
would be nothing short of a total immanent revolution,
entailing capital’s simultaneous fulfillment and

negation. To the extent that the revolutionary potential
of overcoming capitalism is not recognized and seized
upon within the energies and tensions of capitalism
itself, humankind instead regresses, as social domination
is reconstituted in new forms. In this way, capitalist
modernity creates for itself a “Hell on earth.”4
We are still haunted by Benjamin’s work in that
the hellish condition of “transiency without progress”
in modern society has only deepened. The only—and
major—difference is that most people are entirely
disillusioned by the bourgeois myth of progress,
especially after the horrors of the 20th century that were
carried out in its name. We are instead wading though a
time in which those who pride themselves on not “buying
into” bourgeois ideology have also largely given up the
struggle to emancipate humanity from its grip. Historical
progress as a theoretical and practical problem is treated
with pessimism and, at times, with downright hostility.
This paralysis is rooted in the misguided assumption
that modernity’s promise of creating a better world rests
in ruins to the degree that it is no longer applicable to
today’s problems. According to this view, modernity (and
even postmodernity) is, for better or worse, a bygone
era, and we have been lobbed into a different paradigm
with a whole “new” set of parameters.5 The term
encapsulating such a worldview is “the contemporary,”
or “contemporaneity,” and since roughly 1970, it has
sealed together and fixed in place our system of cultural
production like industrial glue.
This glue, however, leaves behind a murky residue
that obscures the very nature of its bond. The term
“contemporaneity” lacks consensus to properly sustain
itself even as a purely descriptive historical category.
Addressing this insufficiency has become something of an
itch recently, with a number of attempts to demystify what
“the contemporary” encompasses. Over the last year, two
major publications, October and the online journal, e-flux,
have made available a series of short essays from various
contributors trying to answer the questions, “What is the
contemporary?” and “What is contemporary art?”6 In the
responses there are many ways “contemporaneity” has
been defined, but even when taken all together, they point
to a persisting inability to make sense of the present and
our relationship to modernism. Despite this inability, the
disposition towards “the contemporary” in the replies
to both questionnaires has been either reluctantly

ambivalent or exceedingly sanguine.
For instance, “the contemporary” as a historical
moment is characterized as a “cacophonic mess,”7 with
component parts that are “not clearly distinguishable”8;
contemporaneity lacks an overall “road map” to guide
any sort of historical positioning.9 Yet, what follows
from such claims is the belief that these indecipherable
conditions do not indicate confusion and helplessness,
but in fact provide more “freedom” to move in the
present.10 The “cacophonic mess” of the present gives
the authors “enormous hope,” “lacking a road map”
is taken to be a “strength rather than a weakness,”
it is incumbent upon us to hold a “positive vision” of
contemporaneity’s “chaos and complexity,”11 and so
it goes. What is left unexplained in almost all cases is
how the dynamic anarchy of the present could actually
lead to more favorable social conditions, whether
politically, artistically, or both. In the abstract, anarchic
conditions seem to allow greater room for uninhibited
spontaneity, as there are no rules or strict standards
placed on artistic creativity. Yet, this dissolution of rules
has not led to a new contemporary renaissance, to the
sort of eruption of human artistic practice that one
would expect if unfreedom were only a matter of the
rigidity of the rules and standards at a given moment.
However, in many cases the authors who replied to
the questionnaires take a one-sided approach to the
concept of disorder, seeing anarchy simply as a form of
freedom in the present and failing to consider how its
opposite—order and organization—is at the same time
a necessary factor in the historical process of artistic
development. To these art historians and theorists, it is
as though “contemporaneity” radiates possibilities for
a better world regardless of the fact that no one seems
ready to answer what conscious role we could play in the
realization of those possibilities. Despite the plurality and
pluralism of the responses, the utopianism of the replies
to the questionnaires consists more in the unelaborated
expression of desire and in declarations of “hope” than in
a plausible assessment of current circumstances.
The reason such utopianism fails to bridge the gap
between contemporaneity’s discontents (the “is”) and
an ideal future (the “ought”) stems from an epidemic
allergy towards revisiting the modernist project to inform
present practices. Ultimately, modernism is treated as
a corpse whose death was both welcome and deserved.

With this comes the fantasy that contemporaneity is an
utter and complete “break” with modernism, based on
the discontinuities between the past and present. Such an
approach towards history results in a refusal to consider
that the past may still weigh upon us today, even if the
burden of this weight is diffuse and impalpable. Rather
than a corpse, modernity should be seen as a project that
failed in its own time and according to its own terms, but
which therefore remains incomplete. The “break” with
the past, then, is more apparent than real. Capitalism—
the fundamental social condition defining modernity—
persists not in spite of, but precisely through its structural
transformations.

To grasp the vicissitudes of contemporaneity,
it behooves us to recognize how current artistic
productions can express (latently or manifestly) continuity
in change, and change in continuity. This dialectic
straddles the historical gap between our modernist
past and our contemporaneous present, which may
open up possibilities to push beyond contemporaneity’s
historical impasse. To focus only on the discontinuities
between moments in time, on the other hand, means
that the present becomes one-dimensional, holding no
possibilities to move beyond the status quo. Nor does this
understanding of history honestly engage with the ways
in which we have inherited past struggles. This stops
us from seeing the best facets of modernism as serious
“Contemporary” continues below

Contemporary, continued from above
efforts in need of redemption, and gives us a skewed
impression in learning about the past.
Accordingly, many of the responses in October
and e-flux promote the view of contemporaneity as a
complete disconnect from modernism. A caricature is
then created out of modernity in order to make it seem
like a bygone era. Several contributions castigate the
modernist project for subsuming everyone under “grand
narratives” that are driven by “Eurocentric” or “NATO”
ideologies.12 What is unconsciously favored instead is an
affirmation of the world as it currently exists, complete
with rhetoric that sees in contemporaneity “a plurality
of presents” and a “heterochronic” atmosphere. It
is believed to be an alternative view in opposition to
modernist discourse, which was supposedly conjured
up by Western countries in order to stifle viewpoints
other than its own. Even the attempts to “return” to
some form of modernism fall into the trap they seek
to avoid. “To understand [contemporaneity’s] various
vectors,” says art historian Okwui Enwezor, “we need
to provincialize modernism, that is, spatialize it as a
series of local modernisms rather than one big universal
modernism.”13 Though Enwezor ostensibly calls for
the continuation of the modernist project, he does so
only on the problematic basis of local flavor, which
presumes that taking certain provinces in isolation
will create a multitude of authentic histories liberated
from any kind of universal hegemony. Such a view
protests the process of globalization in its current
form—that is, the conditions whereby art can only make
headway when packaged and displayed as articles of
the culture industry—but it circumvents the issue of
what questions and possibilities of artistic freedom are
raised by globalization. Rather than critiqued as a form
of alienated universality, globalization is simply rejected,
and universality dismissed tout court.
In its best ideals modernism did not seek to force
the world to mirror European or NATO cultural tropes,
but to transcend the unfreedom historically specific
to capitalism, understood as a totalizing force that
continuously entangles the world in a web of necessity,
whether the provinces of the world saw themselves
as actors in this process or not. Thus the particular
needs to be understood as a part of the whole. Or,
more concretely, “provincial” histories need to be
understood as affecting—and being affected by—the
totality of world-historical events, which are intimately
bound up in the dynamic of capitalism. Indeed, there
are “many presents” in the present moment, but these
do not develop in total remoteness, without overlap
and correspondence. “Provincializing” modernism
atomizes history during a time when our actions, no
matter how localized they may appear superficially,
have broad effects on a universal scale. Enwezor’s
nominalism ultimately abstracts what he considers the
real, concrete form of history: It ends up being a guise
for a disinterested cultural relativism that cannot analyze
how the husk of particular histories are governed by an
overarching force beyond its own control—a force that is
a concrete event. Such a confining vision fails to grasp its
object of inquiry, much less to understand how artistic

practice has developed on a universal scale as part of the
particularity of each artwork.
The spell of contemporaneity not only flattens the
dialectical tension between the locality of an artwork’s
context and its positioning in a historical totality, but also
renders unintelligible the interplay between an artwork’s
fleetingness and its lasting socio-historical significance.
Under the condition of contemporaneity, art ceases to
be an activity that builds upon a historical trajectory:
a project, in the words of Clement Greenberg, which
is meant to “live up to the past.”14 Or, as Boris Groys

Vito Acconci’s instructions for his artwork Step Piece (1970) have
one stepping onto and dismounting an 18-inch stool, at the rate
of 30 steps a minute, until one is too tired to continue. This is
repeated every morning for several months.

puts it, in what has become something like the mantra
contemporaneity lives by, “The present is a moment
in time when we decide to lower our expectations of the
future or to abandon some of the dear traditions of the
past in order to pass through the narrow gate of the hereand-now.”15 Groys goes on to note that we live in a time
of “indecision,” and claims we are in a “prolonged and
even infinite delay” because we have come to mistrust
the aspirations of modernism. In light of the failure of
modernism’s best ambitions, this mistrust is merited, but
nonetheless insufficient to move us beyond a delay that
threatens to become infinite. Lowering our expectations
of the future means that art ceases to be a platform for
imagining a utopian future, only allowing it to make a
fleeting impact on cultural history. In an atmosphere that
no longer contextualizes working through the past to
clear the way for a better future, artworks struggle to be
anything more than discrete objects in this or that trend,
regardless of the artist’s or critic’s intent.
Seeking to understand the relationship of art to
history in modernity, Baudelaire said the artist “makes it
his business to extract from fashion whatever element it
may contain of poetry within history, to distill the eternal
from the transitory.”16 What makes modern art stand
the test of time, according to Baudelaire, is its ability to
recognize how art in its ephemerality has the power to
interpret anew the way the present builds upon its past,
as well as visualize how certain elements of the past

remain with us. We can certainly question the concept of
the “eternal” in Baudelaire’s formulation, but the basic
idea of searching out how certain conditions remain in
place within altered circumstances is apt, at least as the
beginning of an approach to the contemporary situation.
The risk that contemporaneity will become an “infinite
delay” seems rooted at least partly in the inability to
envision art as developing from the past. Art, meanwhile,
can relate to the past only through superficial references
stretching across an ironic distance. Falling below the
threshold of Baudelaire and Greenberg following him,
critical discourse on contemporaneity has become onesided, seeing developments in the art world only as a
procession of fashions that emerge and subside more or
less senselessly. Everyone waits for the “next big thing,”
yet, each time it comes, and to the embarrassment
of everyone, its relevance deflates as the next coming
attraction grabs our attention.
It seems that we have stumbled into the conditions
of contemporaneity not by choice, but accidentally, in the
sense that the art world has failed to make any lasting
impact in a culture of distraction. We have found ourselves
in the present not by overcoming the problematics of
modernism, but because we have been unable to make
sense of what has not yet been exhausted in the modernist
project, despite its ultimate failure. Modernity is not alive,
but it is also not dead. It might be most fruitful, then, to
consider whether contemporaneity is just old wine in a
new bottle. Rather than a break with the past, might the
contemporary be better understood as a continuation
of the problems and goals of modernism, but under
transformed conditions?
If we actually do make history, but not in the
conditions of our own choosing, “contemporaneity” is the
most extreme scenario in which the will to take the helm
of consciously directing history has been eclipsed, such
that our practical activities, rather than directing events,
are merely reactive. Objectively, it is always possible to
discern alternate paths and recourses that could be taken.
Here, the obstacle that blocks us is our own subjectivity:
the hyper-focus on the present shuts off learning from
the past in a way that can shape a future beyond the
fetters of capitalism. The rubric of “the contemporary”
skews historical consciousness to the point that the
present itself, even in its multiplicity, is obscured, and
art becomes as fleeting and inconsequential as last
year’s fad. We have lost a sense of how art is a historical
expression of the human condition, and we have lost an
understanding of how art could segue into the imagination
of a better future, without—or, indeed, in spite of—voicing
a particular program or demand. If we fail to recognize
that there is nothing novel about “the contemporary,” and
that our historical moment is still very much conditioned
by capitalism, any attempt to further freedom is likely
to repeat the failures of the 20th century, but in a further
degenerated and unconscious way. As Benjamin might
word it, to recognize this form of regression would, like
a lightening bolt, blast us out of the aimless historical
continuum held under contemporaneity’s ruse.
Emancipated from mistaking appearance for reality,
perhaps harmonies could then emerge from within the
cacophonic mess. | P

1. This article is indebted to Jan Verwoert’s allegorical essay,
“Standing on the Gates of Hell, My Services Are Found Wanting,”
in What is Contemporary Art?, eds. Julieta Aranda, Brian Kuan
Wood, and Anton Vidokle (New York: Sternberg Press, 2010),
196–210. This book originally appeared as a two-part issue of
the online journal e-flux. It is my intention to theorize Verwoert’s
position with respect to the stakes of contemporaneity’s historical
moment.
2. See Walter Benjamin, quoted in Susan Buck Morss, The
Dialectics of Seeing (Cambridge: MIT Press, 1991), 97:
[Modernity as Hell] deals not with the fact that ‘always the
same thing’ happens (a forteriori this is not about eternal
recurrence) but the fact that on the face of that oversized
head called earth precisely what is newest doesn’t change;
that this ‘newest’ in all its pieces keep remaining the same.
It constitutes the eternity of Hell and its sadistic craving for
innovation. To determine the totality of features in which this
“modernity” imprints itself would mean to represent Hell.
3. Ibid, 96.
4. This what Benjamin referred to as “dialectics at a standstill.”
5. As Hans Ulrich Obrist puts it, we “have come to suspect
modernity to be our antiquity.” Obrist, “Manifestos for the Future,”
in What is Contemporary Art?, 60.
6. See Hal Foster, “A Questionnaire on ‘The Contemporary’:
32 Responses,” October 130 (Fall 2009), 3–124; and What is
Contemporary Art?
7. Julieta Aranda, Brian Kuan Wood, and Anton Vidokle, “What Is
Contemporary Art? An Introduction,” 8.
8. Jörg Heiser, “Torture and Remedy: The End of –isms and the
Beginning Hegemony of the Impure,” in What is Contemporary
Art?, 81.
9. Jaleh Mansoor, response to “A Questionnaire on ‘The
Contemporary,’” 105.
10. Zdenka Badovinac, “Contemporaneity as Points of
Connection,” in What is Contemporary Art?, 155.
11. Nicholas Bourriaud, quoted in James Meyer, response to “A
Questionnaire on ‘The Contemporary,’” 75.
12. Cuauhtémoc Medina, “Contemp(t)orary: Eleven Theses,” in
What is Contemporary Art?, 12.
13. Okwui Enwezor, response to “A Questionnaire on ‘The
Contemporary,’” 36. Italics mine.
14. Clement Greenberg, “Modern and Postmodern,” Arts 54:6
(February 1980). Also available online at <http://www.sharecom.
ca/greenberg/postmodernism.html>.
15. Boris Groys, “Comrades of Time,” in What is Contemporary
Art?, 24. Italics mine.
16. Charles Baudelaire, “The Painter of Modern Life,” in The
Painter in Modern Life and Other Essays, ed. Jonathan Mayne (New
York: Phaidon, 1964), 12.

3

The Platypus Review

Interview, continued from page 1
form of labor politics. It was in this context that the
struggle between Marx and anarchism took place—both
Marx and Bakunin advanced forms of labor politics.
The World Social Forum, by contrast, does not claim
to embody a labor international, but operates as a
minimally organized “movement of movements,” which,
at most, might claim unity in defense of the rights
and claims of the poor and underprivileged. Given the
move away from labor politics, do you agree that the
World Social Forum represents an evolution in political
internationalism?

urged support for the revolutionary struggle in Morocco,
the country from which most of Franco’s troops came.
There was revolutionary struggle of a kind going on
there, and he argued that the anarchists in Spain ought
to be supporting that in order to undercut the social
base of the Franco armies. That movement was not very
radical, seeking basic land reform and the like. Needless
to say, the French and the English were strongly
opposed. This I think would have been a good strategy,
but it would have depended very heavily on international
solidarity in the major imperialist states.

NC: That’s partially correct but not completely so, at least
if by labor you have in mind the industrial proletariat.
Bakunin by no means restricted his concerns to these
sectors of the laboring classes. Marx, particularly in
his later years, was very much interested in Russian
peasant society, and studied intensely the vast flood
of information produced by Narodnik investigators. He
also seems to have shared in part their beliefs about the
revolutionary potential of the peasant masses. But it’s
true that contemporary social movements, as illustrated
by the World Social Forum, have carried further
concerns for the rights of people who are oppressed,
including those who are not poor. The women’s and gay
rights movements, for example, extend well beyond.
These are all healthy tendencies in principle, though they
can be counterproductive too if crucial class issues are
marginalized.

ET: So, you would say that leftists in other countries
were largely opposed to the libertarian project being
advanced by many in Spain at the time?

VC: In a 1987 interview you did with James Peck
published in The Chomsky Reader, you said that, “[Given
imperialism’s effect on developing nations] it is hard for
people with libertarian commitments to support Third
World struggles. I’m not saying that the reluctance is
justified, but it is understandable.” So, in cases where
leftists in a developing nation hold a political philosophy
incompatible with those of many First World leftists,
what approach should be taken?
NC: South Vietnam is a good example. The U.S. actually
attacked South Vietnam, that was the main target of
the assault, and it won the war there. It destroyed the
National Liberation Front. What began as a peasantbased movement with a lot of local participation got
smashed and the North Vietnamese army took over
installing a kind of Stalin-style dictatorship. That was
a big victory for the United States. What they were
worried about was precisely the libertarian tendencies
of the NLF, and they were destroyed. Something similar
happened in the anarchist revolution in Spain, which is
the peak of libertarian success in important respects.
There, the communists, fascists, and liberal democracies
combined to make sure they destroyed that revolution.
They recognized a political virus that might spread. In the
Spanish revolution there was a strategic proposal that
conceivably might have worked to get around this. Italian
anarchist intellectual Camillo Berneri thought that in
Spain they would never succeed in winning the war, so
he urged a dual strategy of guerrilla warfare. He also

NC: Most leftists at that time were communists. They
were the ones crushing the revolution in Spain. They
were more opposed to the revolution than anyone else
and for good reason. There was a good deal of violence
against the anarchists. The communists were the party
of the police. It is the same reason Lenin destroyed the
soviets. Communists don’t want popular rule. Both Lenin
and Trotsky wanted centralized control.
ET: How, then, would you make sense of the failure of
the anarchist’s direct appeal to the Spanish workers in
the 1930s?
NC: I don’t think this is an accurate portrayal. Industrial
Catalonia was a centerpiece of the anarchist revolution,
before it was crushed—right there, in fact.
VC: Going back to something that was brought up earlier,
how do we evaluate anti-imperialist movements, given
their political divergence? How do we make sense of
competing anti-imperialist politics around the globe?
Can there be a reactionary opposition to imperialism?
NC: Certainly, there can be. The clerical regime in Iran
is anti-imperialist, but probably worse than the proimperialist regime it replaced. So, of course, you have to
be careful when you try to defend some population from
attack, since they’re usually under attack by their own
government as well. One’s analysis must have finesse,
so you’re not supporting the internal destructive forces.
You can oppose the Iraq war, but not support Saddam
Hussein, though these are not always easy paths to tread.
ET: So what are the criteria for evaluating such instances?
NC: There isn’t any algorithm, you just have to work it out
in each case. But that’s what human life is like, you have
to make decisions in uncertain situations. You may have
some principles, but you might not know how they apply.
ET: But then what are the principles of the Left on this
matter? What ideas are central to leftist politics and
in what way have they changed over the course of the
20th century? How do you see yourself as a part of that
transformation?
NC: Well, the terms of political discourse have been so

debased that it’s hard to use these words. For example,
the Communist Party was called “the Left,” though, in
my view, they were utterly right wing. When the Soviet
Union collapsed, I wrote a short article that none of the
left journals wanted to publish, in which I said it’s a small
victory for socialism. One of the main anti-socialist forces
of the 20th century was destroyed. There was, of course, a
libertarian left, which criticized the Bolsheviks from the
left. These included some Marxists. There are shared
ideals, of course, but they are so general that everybody
will say they accept them. But the question is: who really
does? So you want freedom, you want justice, you want
equality, you want opportunities, you want to eliminate
hierarchy and domination, and so on. Those all should be
ideals of the Left, but you could probably find Glenn Beck
espousing them too.
ET: Given the slide into barbarism and oligarchy in post1989 Russia, does your positive judgment of the collapse
of the USSR still stand? How do you make sense of the
steady waning of socialist and left politics during the
post-Cold War era?
NC: On the latter question, there has been a waning
of “left politics,” but not, I think, of socialist concerns
and aspirations. True, the gross caricature of socialism
in the Soviet system has lost its allure, thankfully, but
again that seems to me a small victory for socialism, as
I wrote at the time. The waning of left politics is a much
broader phenomenon, long preceding the collapse of
the USSR, and hardly affected by it, I think. Across the
mainstream spectrum there was a very harsh reaction
to the democratizing and civilizing effects of the activism
of the 1960s. Liberal internationalists—basically, those
who formed the Carter administration—called quite
openly for reversing what they called the “excess of
democracy” as the majority of the population became
organized and active in entering the political arena and
pursuing their interests there, and also ensuring that
institutions responsible for “indoctrinating the young”
pursue their tasks more forcefully. Towards the right end
of the spectrum a much harsher stand was taken against
dissidence, in hopes of restoring obedience and conformity.
VC: Do you see the Left advancing a particular economics,
for instance state planning? Or some particular
relationship between how food and other goods are
produced and politics?
NC: Oh, absolutely. Food sustainability is extremely
important. In fact, we don’t have to talk about that
abstractly. It’s very concrete. Take, say, Haiti. Why is Haiti
such a total disaster? Part of the reason was that there
were a couple of countries, first France but particularly
the United States, that in the last 30 or 40 years very
consciously tried to destroy the agricultural system. This
was justified on principles of “comparative advantage,”
which for Haitians means making baseballs, knitting
garments, and stuff like that, not producing their own
rice. That’s better served by highly subsidized American
imports which are forced on them. It all goes back to
French colonialism and the end result, of course, is
that the Haitians can’t feed themselves. But if there

is an earthquake, it is a monstrous catastrophe. What
we see elsewhere is no different. Take India, which is
highly praised for its neoliberal reforms. I’ve been to the
research labs at Hyderabad, and they do look better than
the ones here. On the other hand, since the neoliberal
reforms started, average food consumption in India
has dropped considerably, because the same programs
that were building those fancy labs in Bangalore are
eliminating support for the rural poor. There are tens
of thousands of peasants once engaged in agricultural
production, production of fruit, and so on, who now flow
into the cities, which in turn results in all sorts of horrors.
These are real problems. It is a problem right here, too. I
mean, why should we be importing food from thousands
of miles away? Food isn’t produced in an accessible way.
There is too much organization and it’s not sustainable.
Whether it is a rich country like here, or a poor country
like India, food is a serious concern.
ET: Among other things, Platypus is interested in
reconsidering the history of the Left in light of the
present. This perspective prioritizes the role of the
historical consciousness of the Left. In what way does
history matter, and how does historical consciousness
play a role in your work?
NC: It certainly matters. We are the products of the
historical process. If we don’t understand history, we
don’t understand ourselves. I mean, if you live in the
United States, for example, you should know that this
country was founded as an empire. George Washington
called it an “infant empire.” The goal of the most
libertarian of the founding fathers, Thomas Jefferson,
was to have the superior Anglo-Saxon race eliminate the
red, send the blacks back to Africa, and eliminate the
“Latins” (his term), because they are inferior, and then
populate the whole hemisphere. He and his associates
got pretty far in that project too. It’s a settler-colonial
society, the absolutely worst kind of imperialism, one
that deliberately exterminated the indigenous population
then expanded abroad. Now the U.S. is a world dominant
power, spending as much on the military as the rest
of the world combined, fighting two wars, all kinds of
things—if you don’t know that, you don’t know who you
are. And you don’t know why the world looks at you the
way they do. So, if you want to function as a civilized
person in the existing world, you’d better correct the
false historical consciousness that’s been imposed on
you and try to find out the truth about history, including
the truth about your own privilege. I mean, did you know
that the average per capita income in India is about 2
percent that of the United States, and that of China is
only 5 percent, according to World Bank figures, which
are probably underestimated, but not by much? People
talk about these countries attaining our material level,
but simple arithmetic will tell you that’s impossible.
Which means our material level has to turn to something
civilized. Maybe a better life, but certainly a life that won’t
be measured by the number of commodities you can
consume, or how much fossil fuel you can use. There has
to be a big change in our lives if the world is going to have
any kind of decency. | P

Book Review: Osha Neumann, Up Against the Wall, Motherf**ker : A Memoir of the ‘60s, with Notes
for Next Time. New York: Seven Stories Press, 2008.
Philip Longo

WHAT WERE THE 1960S? The Left is still a bit confused.
Activist and lawyer Osha Neumann, in his memoir Up
Against the Wall, Motherf**ker, suggests that the 1960s
not be thought of as a single coherent movement, but
rather as a collection of movements gathered under
the umbrella of “liberation.” The civil rights movement
overlapped with the anti-war movement, but they
were not fully aligned. Similarly, the politically earnest
Students for a Democratic Society often came headto-head with the counterculture and the seemingly
more radical tactics of Neumann’s own group, the
Motherfuckers.
Yet, despite his gesture toward distinguishing among
different strands within “the sixties,” Neumann himself
falls into the same trap as many New Left revisionists
in documenting his time in “the movement.” The
Motherfuckers participate within a mass structure of
feeling, “a wet dream of possibilities” during a period
of “unrelenting urgency.” Neumann’s sixties are marked
not only by political struggles within the Left, but also
by a kind of vague collective consciousness. This mutes
Neumann’s political narrative and renders it difficult for
him to disentangle particular political currents and goals
from one another. Looking back, he describes the period
as marked by the confluence of revolutionary movements
and feelings in a “strange amalgam, [in which] the
image of the revolutionary transformed by the revolution
fused with acid fueled visions in which all things melted
and morphed, all permanence dissolved and nothing
withstood change” (162).

While Neumann’s book provides an interesting
glimpse into the history of the political movements of
the 1960s and a possible case study in activism, the
elusiveness with which he treats “the sixties” contributes
to the confusion of the book’s second part, the “notes for
next time.” Rather than helping us out of the seemingly
intractable dilemmas facing the post-1960s left—how
do we understand the period so we can learn from it
and build on it or, alternatively, discard it and move
on?—Neumann’s book reenacts the Left’s ambivalence
toward the decade and its failure to reconstitute
an emancipatory leftist politics. Like many a 1960s
memoirist, Neumann is still unsure what to make of his
experience, how to disentangle history from what merely
happened. Reluctant to throw the flower child out with
the bathwater, Neumann, like the Left, becomes stuck in
a cycle of recrimination and nostalgia.
As Neumann tells it, joining the radical activist group
the Motherfuckers was part of a rebellion against his
upbringing. The son of intellectual émigrés Inge and
Franz Neumann who fled the Holocaust and found refuge
as professors at Columbia University, Osha (originally
named Thomas) grew up in the New York émigré circles
occupied by other German Marxist and Frankfurt School
intellectuals, like his father’s friends Herbert Marcuse
and Otto Kirchheimer. When the author was 14, his
father, who authored Behemoth, the classic Marxist
analysis of the Nazi state, died. Shortly after, his mother
married Marcuse. Growing up in the extended orbit of
the Frankfurt school, Neumann writes, “I concluded that
my birthright was an all encompassing theory, Marxism,
which sought to determine, in each historical period, the
forces which represent humanity’s hope for liberation
and a just ordering of human affairs” (15).
Having the author of Eros and Civilization and One
Dimensional Man for a stepfather made adolescent
rebellion difficult. Still, after an admittedly apolitical
tenure at Swarthmore and graduate studies in history
at Yale, Neumann began to turn away from his leftist
inheritance towards what he describes as the passionate
embrace of sex and art. Becoming preoccupied by his
own “irrational” sexual passions, Neumann saw in
revolutionary activism a mirror and outlet for all that
seemingly defied the rational theorizing of his parents’
circle. As he puts it, he could not reconcile “reason’s strict
demands to prioritize thinking over doing with the unruly
energies of my corrupt, insistent body” (17). Art, sex and
activism became his rebellion against the “theoretical”
bent of his family. Neumann’s rebellion, unlike that of
some of his peers, was not an ideological struggle or
awakening, but rather a full-throttled embrace of praxis
over an irrelevant and crusty theoretical tradition.
And full-throttled it was. After dropping out of
Yale and moving to the Lower East Side in Manhattan

to become an artist, Neumann became involved with
the Angry Arts Week against the Vietnam War in 1967.
Arrested during an event where a poster of a maimed
Vietnamese child was unfurled during Sunday Mass at
St. Patrick’s Cathedral, he describes himself as having
a “mystical experience” in jail. But rather than changing
his life course, this experience seems to have confirmed
the direction in which he was already heading. Chanting
in jail along with his fellow demonstrators, he felt his
new insight allowed him to turn his back on “rationality.”
If instrumental reason could not stop the bombs in
Vietnam, and had in fact created them, his jailhouse
epiphany suggested that the only way to fight back
was to embrace the irrational. And so he threw off the
dialectic in favor of direct confrontation.
In 1968 Neumann joined the new underground
“affinity group,” Up Against the Wall, Motherfuckers,
which grew out of the Angry Arts Week and Black Mask,
another revolutionary artist group founded by anarchist
Ben Morea. The Motherfuckers took their name from
a famous line in the poem “Black People!” by Amiri
Baraka (LeRoi Jones):
You know how to get it, you can get it, no money
down, no money never, money dont grow on
trees no way, only whitey’s got it, makes it with a
machine, to control you you cant steal nothin from
a white man, he’s already stole it he owes you
anything you want, even his life. All the stores will
open if you will say the magic words. The magic
words are: Up against the wall mother fucker this
is a stick up! 1
Though the group was primarily white, drawing from
the drop-outs and street kids of New York’s Lower
East Side, much of their tactics and style were lifted
from the Black Panthers. Describing themselves as
an “affinity group devoted to liberation and revolution
through any means necessary,” they adopted a stance
of extreme militancy. Ideologically they were hard to pin
down. If the SDS could be thought of as attempting to
lay out the ideological framework for the rebellion, the
Motherfuckers, lacking the patience for their hesitancy
and abstract theorizing, saw themselves as the soldiers.
At times deliberately incoherent in their actions and
views, the Motherfuckers understood themselves as
rebelling against “The System,” a phrase that denoted
“more than the economic and political institutions by
which the rich wage unequal war on the poor, stealing
the fruits of their labors, and despoiling the earth in the
process.” In theory “The System” meant “the totality of
reality as shaped by, dependent upon, and supportive
of those institutions… presidents and penises, the
Pentagon and our parents, desires and disaffections,
torturers and toothpaste” (66). In practice, as Neumann
would later admit, “The System” referred to anything

that was not, or did not agree with, the Motherfuckers.
The most interesting part of the book is Neumann’s
inside view of power struggles and confrontations
with the Lower East Side police, the occupation of
Columbia in 1968, the 1968 Chicago Convention, and
the “liberation” of the Fillmore East theater, a venue
for the new multi-media psychedelic rock concerts
so popular at the time. In these sections, Neumann
presents some astute reporting with commentary,
disavowing many of the more violent and ineffectual
forms of protest. Looking back, Neumann calls much of
the Motherfuckers’ politics vague both in its ecumenical
anti-authoritarianism and its “infantile” rebellion. To
this extent the book represents Neumann’s attempt to
work through the consequences of this criticism: “It
is easy to dismiss this politics as nothing more than
childish tantrums, and to profess a baleful acceptance
of the status quo as more ‘mature.’ It’s more difficult
to disentangle, delicately, as one would a bird caught
in a net, the genuinely radical and uncompromising
elements in this politics from those which are selfdefeating” (93). This statement is certainly compelling,
if only because it reveals the book’s greatest weakness:
Neumann is unable to perform the operation he
prescribes.
The memoir portion makes up the first half of the
book. The second half is comprised of essays on the
legacy of the 1960s, the 1999 WTO protests, and an
engaging essay on the academic left’s fetishization
of what it calls “theory.” Yet these “notes for next
time” are suggestive at best. Other than his gradual
return to an embrace of “Reason” (albeit coupled with
action), Neumann offers little in his assessment of what
lessons we would have to learn to follow through on
the ambitions of the best 1960s radicals. Nor does he
compellingly argue that such a historical critique and
re-appropriation is even desirable. Rather, Neumann
simply assumes that any reconstituted left must be
modeled on the 1960s movements, albeit with some
revisions:
We purged as an infantile aberration the
extravagant imagination of unlimited possibilities
that inspired our most heroic—or foolhardy—acts
of disobedience. But the vision doesn’t really die.
The wet dream of possibilities imagined by the
counterculture of the Sixties is real, even now, as
we struggle to avert an equally real nightmare:
fascist regression, the triumph of unreason, the
death of nature, the extinction of hope. Our flame
smolders underground, waiting for the wind that
will fan it back to fury. (165)
In critiquing the methods of groups like the
Motherfuckers, Neumann misses a chance to take on
“Book Review” continues on page 4

Issue #28 / October 2010

4

Communism and Israel
Initiative Sozialistisches Forum

This text was written collaboratively and originally
published by the anti-Deutsch group, Initiative
Sozialistisches Forum (Socialist Initiative Forum), under
the title “Furchtbare Antisemiten, ehrbare Antizionisten.
Über Israel und die linksdeutsche Ideologie,” Freiburg im
Breisgau, Germany, 2002. Translated and reprinted with
permission of the authors.

COMMUNISM, ACCORDING TO MARX, is the “riddle of
history solved.” The riddle consists in the fact that the
division of the human race into those who dominate
and those being dominated, exploiters and exploited,
has been exacerbated to such an extent that, caught
between complete reification, on the one hand, and the
transition to the “association of free individuals,” on the
other, revolution seems imminent even as it recedes ever
farther into the distance. Marxists of all persuasions,
instead of denouncing the riddle in its tragedy, instead of
submitting it to critique, persist in rationalizing it and as
such are complicit in its ideological distortion.
Israel is the Shibboleth of the yet-so-close
revolution, the uncomprehended shadow of its failure.
It is the Menetekel that involuntarily both illustrates
the minimal categorical conditions of communism
while simultaneously demonstrating the beastliness
of which the bourgeois national state is capable. Those
who have failed to grasp the hatred against this state—
embodied in anti-Zionism and antisemitism, both of
which harbor a will to eliminate those who live there as
well as the Jews who live in scattered cosmopolitanism
around the world—have not understood the essence
of antisemitism: the unconditional hatred of the idea
of mankind living in free association. They fail to grasp
communism as the riddle of history solved.
Israel’s existence is the bane of the Left. This is
primarily because this state and this nation cannot be
regarded in the terms of the anti-colonial revolutions or
movements of national liberation, unless one wants to
understand as such the (undoubtedly) terrorist activities
of Menachem Begin’s Zionist Irgun against the British
prior to Israel’s founding. Israel, the “tautological nation”
as it is termed by Bahamas, magazine of the anti-German
left, is an anomaly in general: It fits no scheme in the
philosophy of history and expresses no recognizable
political interest, whether of the bourgeoisie and their
intellectual henchmen or of the Left and its theorists.
How hopeless the interest of the Enlightenment and
emancipation of mankind seems nowadays! How futile,

Communism, continued from above
of the most politically salient characteristics of the
state of Israel. It is wrong-headed because what needs
explaining is precisely how Israel could be and remain
a parliamentary democracy. It is warped because in
Israel, between the unbearable old conditions (the
threat of annihilation) and the not-yet-achieved new
conditions (the society sans domination), we find exactly
the epitome of what was once known and inscribed on
red banners as the “dictatorship of the proletariat,”
the organized political force for emancipation through
revolution. Considering the founding idea of the Israeli
state with respect to the question of the “dictatorship of
the proletariat,” and against the backdrop of the Left’s
myths of the state, any judgment passed on the actions
of Israel’s government must also reflect the peculiarities
of Israel’s statehood.
Nobody claims that Ariel Sharon is the Lenin of
Israel. What is at stake here is that Israeli statehood
derives historically and structurally from Israel’s
essence as a force for emancipation constituted by
parliament and congealed into its pouvoir de l’État. It is
therefore impossible to distinguish between rule and
the execution of rule in the same way as one would ask
whether Social Democrat Schröder or Christian Socialist
Stoiber are more suited to safeguard the common good
as Chancellor of Germany. Whoever distinguishes in
this way with respect to Israel not only proclaims their
own lack of comprehension of the Jewish state, but
also adopts at least a moderate anti-Zionism in the
vein of the popular 2002 Easter Marches of the peace
movement throughout the country, where activists
proudly displayed Palestinian national pennants, or of
the pathetic Italian anti-globalization movement Tute
Bianche, that called for a boycott of Israeli goods, or,
again, of the vainly militant workerist group Wildcat,
which seriously believed it could submit Israel to a “class
analysis.” All this nonsense represses the fact that
Ariel Sharon, however unintentionally, is nevertheless
closer to communism than his critics; for, like an Israeli
version of Buenaventura Durruti, the only way open
to Sharon as a general was to fight in the anti-fascist
struggle. This is so because communism as a stateless
and classless world society demands, if it is to succeed
at all, something impossible: Revenge for the dead, for
the victims of barbarism, even as it demands justice
for the living, that everybody be treated in accordance
with their own character. Only in this manner can
communism be realized as envisioned in the maxim,
“from each according to his ability, to each according
to his need.” From this perspective, Israel is the armed
attempt to reach communism alive. Presumably this
should be understood by leftists who not too long ago
raved about the dictatorship of the proletariat, who
threw themselves at the feet of the late capitalism of the
Soviet Union, the German Democratic Republic, China,
or Albania, and who trumpeted the national-völkisch
liberation movements of the Third World. Today it seems
as if all these bizarre identifications coalesce around the
unconditional support for the Palestinian people against
Israel.
After the collapse of Marxism-Leninism, there is no

seemingly built on sand, is the possibility of overcoming
socially-imposed and individually-hardened immaturity!
Nor is this chiefly demonstrated by those whose entire
business and purpose it is to immortalize the wrong
society. From them, that is, from capital’s apologists, its
sociologists, its beneficiaries and ideologues, one can
expect nothing but what they daily proclaim as “theory”
in the paper Frankfurter Allgemeinen Zeitung [FAZ].
Take for example the 11th of March, 2002: “To believe in
capitalism means finally nothing else than to believe in
man.” Or in laundry detergent. This is as true as saying
that belief in feudalism is, in the last instance, belief in
God. It does, however, have the wicked side-effect of
turning the capital relation into an anthropological given.
By this logic, mankind lives within capital like the ants
live in their colonies: ingenuously, free from alienation,
and spontaneously. And yet, even despite their apologetic
interest, the FAZ is more intimately acquainted with the
total negativity of existing conditions than is the Left,
which purports to want to reform or revolutionize them.
The Left’s invocation of concepts like “society,”
“class,” and “interest” seems positively pathetic. This
is evident not only if one peruses the writings of this
movement, exemplified in the rags of the IZ3W, Wildcat,
or, for the more hardened, Analyse und Kritik. Indeed, one
need only attend closely when their icons, from Green
Party founding member Jutta Ditfurth to Green Party
co-chair Claudia Roth to Left Party “communist” Sarah
Wagenknecht, speak about the fascism of the Nazis.
Wagenknecht, for example, confidently avers that “there
exists no genetic and no historical disposition that drove
‘the German nation’ necessarily and inescapably into
fascism and to Auschwitz. Even behind the most ludicrous
barbarism stood rational, not national, interests. After
all, war and genocide were highly profitable. ‘Death by
labor’ secured rates of exploitation of near 100 percent.”
This left’s imagination of a world beyond capitalism and
fascism is, consequently, expressed in the question posed
in the invitation to Germany’s 2002 Federal Coordination
for Internationalism Conference (BUKO): “How do we find
something better than the nation?” Posed as such, the
only answer can be that something already fits the bill:
the Volk.1 Were it otherwise, instead of the search for new
identities the Left would have to speak about the abolition
of nation, state, and money.
This left is no less ghastly when it raves on and
on about Israel. This is true despite the fact that
antisemitism’s connection to a will to abolish the
bourgeois-society-cum-state of the Jews, i.e. to

abolish Israel, is so manifestly evident: So-called antiZionism constitutes nothing less than the geopolitical
reproduction of antisemitism. Anti-Zionism is the form
of appearance antisemitism must assume in the world
market and in world politics after Auschwitz. AntiZionism is antisemitism gathered up from the earliest
capitalist societies and disseminated to the world at
large. Thus is Israel the Jew among the nation-states,
as is made clear by the United Nation’s condemnation of
Zionism as a form of racism. The moral condemnation
of the human cost of constituting bourgeois statehood
is directed solely at Israel, which crystallizes what the
world of the Volksstaaten would have us forget—that
the centralization of political violence over life and
death by no means constitutes the natural organization
of mankind but is, rather, a definite expression of
domination and exploitation. This, despite the fact that
Israel is the only state in the world that can claim for
itself an indubitable legitimacy, a fact that, as must be
stressed again and again, renders the critique of Israel’s
statehood absurd. For it is the asynchronous state, the
one that came into existence as a reaction to the failure
of the promise of the national bourgeois revolutions. As
such, it is both a belated act of self-defense against the
mass murder of European Jews and a response to the
Stalinist betrayal of communist world revolution.
The well-intentioned left rejects antisemitism, yet
it cannot come to terms with Israeli policies against
Palestinian attempts to found a state. What makes it so
difficult to spell out the critical foreign policy implications
of the antisemitic will to annihilation? First, there is the
Left’s ignorance regarding bourgeois statehood, and
second, their pacifism inspired by revolutionary antimilitarists from Mahatma Gandhi to Auguste Blanqui.
To take the case of Ariel Sharon: He is misrecognized as
the return of chauvinism-gone-wild, in the style of ultraconservatives Franz Josef Strauß or Edmund Stoiber.
The pacifism behind this confusion is unwilling to deprive
itself of the right to criticize, if not the Israeli state as
such, then at least the policies of the Israeli government.
It recedes thereby to the standpoint of a pacifism
reminiscent of early Green Party partisans Petra Kelly
or Thomas Ebermann, or peace movement old-timer
Horst-Eberhard Richter in the early 1980s. This strand of
pacifism, as the catchphrase goes, recognizes “Israel’s
right to existence,” but reasons that it must certainly
be allowed to criticize Israel’s governmental policies.
Such a view only recapitulates the social reformism to
which such pacifism has always been committed. They

act as if their “critique” of Israel’s policies does not
sound from newspapers of all political affiliations every
morning! It is the antisemitism that claims to reject all
real antisemitism and that provides for the meretricious
conscience that Germans reek of nowadays: “But, sir,
my best friend is a Jew...”
This reformism seeks to legitimize itself by
identifying itself with the Israeli peace movement and
its American supporters, including figures like Uri
Avnery, Norman Finkelstein, Felicia Langer, and Moshe
Zuckermann. Such people mean to Israel what the
reformist and anti-militarist Deutsche Friedensunion
(German Peace Union) meant to the German Federal
Republic of the early 1960s. The identification of this
particular German pacifism with the Israeli peace
movement rests naturally on the fact that no one has
heard from them a single sentence about the state
of capital, or, for that matter, about a materialist
conception of mass destruction. Thus Zuckermann,
who fancies himself in the critical theory camp, drifts
into multi-culturalism despite himself when he relies
on terms like “second Holocaust” to elucidate Israeli
policies.
Prevailing left “analyses” of Israeli policy elide
the significance of the country’s character as an
asynchronous state of the Jews. Israel is a reaction to
the betrayal of Enlightenment and world-revolution
and an attempt of self-defense or asylum against the
fascism of the Nazis. In addition, however, the common
patterns of bourgeois role allocations—the monopoly on
violence held by the bourgeois state and carried out by
the people tasked with its governance—do not apply to
the state of Israel, given the conditions of its formation.
That “critics” of Israel’s government policies ignore
such considerations is apparent, among other things, in
the fact that they show empathy for the fascist mob and
institutions that reward suicide bombers simply because
they are a consequence of occupation and exploitation,
but when it comes to Israel’s attempts to smash the
military infrastructure of their enemies, these critics
speak of the “extermination” or “annihilation” of the
Palestinian people. Just like the stupid question of
whether one should not be allowed to call those crooked
speculators for what they are without being charged
with antisemitism, the question pondered by leftists of
whether fascism would not be possible in Israel as well
because there is, after all, an Israeli bourgeois society,
conceals a wrong-headed and warped misrecognition

longer any “scientific communism” to speak of. It has
been replaced by a no longer scientific, but instinctively
and intuitively practiced, capacity of the Left for
occultism on a world-historical scale. It is the ontological
postulation, which, as in Marxism-Leninism, allows for
an unproblematic interplay of partisan misconstruction
and empiricist analysis: Each slavishly affirmed fact
is understood as the pure manifestation of an essence
unfolding itself. Every good ideologist is therefore a bad
Hegelian, who short-circuits the sense for the nonidentical. Surely, every tenacious ideology consists of this
tight intertwining of spontaneous, intuitive illustration
mediated by a plethora of facts on the one hand, and,
on the other, of the rationalization of these facts into
a non-contradictory schema, consisting of anything
from recycled Stalinist lines concerning Nazi-fascism
to recycled phrases from Claudia Roth’s latest speech
to the Green Party. Because ideology lacks coherence
it is immune to critique; because it excludes individual
experience it cannot possibly initiate a learning process.
Since the ideologues stifle thought at the root, they end
up substituting for it with calculations of interest. Freud’s
psychoanalysis attempted to grasp this aspect of ideology
in its deliberate paradox of the “unconscious conscious.”
Marx, in his critique of fetishism, was after the same
aspect of ideology with his analysis and exposure of the
relationship of commodity form and form of thought.
This “unconscious conscious” may be imagined
as a sleep-walker, who navigates a way towards his
goal after making every possible misstep. In Europe,
however, the unconscious conscious is thoroughly
antisemitic. Everybody, whether Catholics or feudalists,
absolutist monarchs or bourgeois revolutionaries, party
communists or Nazi fascists, whether fully aware, in a
trance, or in a manic rage, contribute their mite to this
thoughtless thinking, which is gaining merciless force.
In contrast to this, the Zionist philosophy of history
is of an entirely different make, and here the historically
particular role of Zionism shows: History, in this case,
is not coming into its own as the realization of an inner
essence, but as the historical relation between past
and future catastrophe. The Zionists act as if they had
committed themselves to the historical realization
of Walter Benjamin’s “Theses on the Philosophy of
History.” In this negative philosophy of history, historical
materialism is related to Zionism, even while it refuses,
in spite of the facts, to make the Zionist thesis of the
“eternal antisemitism” its own.
The hatred for Zionism has manifold reasons—that
is, excuses. It might be interesting to list them, but it is
not salient here. This is not about what cruelties and
terror happen when the Israeli army penetrates the
territories of the Palestinian National Authority, however
depressing those cruelties may be. Such are the facts of
war, which nobody ever claimed would be an Amnesty
International campaign. What is at stake here is the
relationship of the facts of the tears, blood, and death,
to their interpretation. No reasonable human being,
upon seeing the indubitable suffering of the population
of Dresden in the wake the bombings at the hands of the
Royal Airforce, would conclude that Air Chief Marshal
Sir Arthur Harris’s practical anti-fascism constituted a
historical injustice. Similarly, it is not simply a question

of what cruelties Syrian, Iraqi, or Iranian dictatorships
commit against their own populations, or what these
might mean as regards their military strategies
towards Israel. Nor is this about the “fanatical” settlers.
Rather, it is a question of the historical legitimacy and
philosophical dignity of Zionism as the Israeli national
ideology, which motivates the statehood of the bourgeois
society of the Jews after Auschwitz. In this respect
Ariel Sharon understood more of the Enlightenment
and the ramifications of post-1933 negative dialectics
than do the querulous advocates of the human rights
of the “Palestinian people,” a phrase which comes to
mean whatever it must in order to satisfy the commands
of their very own projections. Jewish nationalism is
the egotism of a people that can no longer trust in the
invisible hand to translate egotism into common good.
That the militant Enlightenment today takes the form
of Ariel Sharon and the tanks of the Israeli Army, that
this is now its only historically possible form, baffles and
angers those who only retain what Bloch, with reference
to Lessing, called “the shams of Englightenment”
(Aufkläricht). It is sufficient for them to struggle for a
disastrous “right to self-determination of the peoples”
whether proletarian-socialist à la Lenin, bourgeoisdemocratic à la Wilson, or völkisch-Nazi-fascist à la
Hitler. While the Jews might very well be a “Volk,” Israel
is at least a society.
No Nazi-fascist was ever truly convinced that he
derived legitimacy for his demands from the Teutoburger
Forest, just as none of his democratic heirs ever really
thought their legitimacy derived from the “lessons of
history.” Similarly, no socialist was ever convinced
that it was the famous “liberation of labor,” and not
simply the right to the spoils, that motivated their
politics in the interest of the working-class. And in no
way do Palestinians gain any right from the fact that
they were the first in Palestine. To a society to which
hunger is no reason for production, suffering cannot be
sufficient grounds for solidarity. Whether one speaks of
Charitas, Amnesty International, or the Friends of the
Palestinian People, with regard to the Israel-hatred of
the antisemites and the Islamo-fascists of this Völk, it
is ideology that agitates in the name of the immediacy
of suffering. It is ideology that strives to make sense of
evidence it cannot bring itself to question. The Zionist
and practical anti-fascist Ariel Sharon has come closer
to solving the riddle of history than the German left,
whose supposed anti-fascism exhausts itself either as
the “rebellion of the decent,” à la ex-chancelor Gerhard
Schröder, or as solidarity with the Palestinian people. | P

Book Review, continued from page 3

Translated by Tony Smith.

1. Translator’s note: Literally, the German word for “people.”
However, in the context of the 19th and 20th centuries, for Völkisch
movements the term has denoted a fantastic dissolution of
social contradictions into a national, organic, whole. For a
critique of Völkisch nationalism, see for example Jerzy Sobotta,
“Rosa Luxemburg’s Corpse: The Stench of Decay on the German
Left, 1932–2009,” Platypus Review 16 (October 2009), <http://
platypus1917.org/2009/10/10/rosa-luxemburg%E2%80%99scorpse>.

“Communism” continues below

the political ideals of the movement. In collapsing fascist
regression, the triumph of unreason, the death of nature,
and the extinction of hope all into one giant bogeyman,
Neumann rehearses the Motherfuckers’ gesture of
collapsing all sources of unfreedom or inequality into
“The System. ” In short, by attacking the methods rather
than the analysis of their historical situation, Neumann
seems to believe that all that the Left needs in the
contemporary moment is quite simply to pick up where
the New Left activists left off. While decrying senseless
violence and “infantile rage” Neumann clings to a sense
of historical possibility that arose out of the 1960s—
surely, a necessary thing today. However, by clinging so
fervently to this dream deferred, Neumann becomes
blinded by his own nostalgia and recriminations.
This surplus of nostalgia and recrimination is the
legacy of the ineffectual left today. Another, related
legacy is our current incoherent politics, unable to
distinguish between “presidents and penises” or “the
Pentagon and our parents”—that is, unable to effectively
understand our own historical moment. We are still
unable to distinguish between the various sources of
unfreedom, where they intersect and where they do not.
By insisting on the “The System” as the enemy and a
renewed and revised activism to combat it, Neumann’s
analysis, like that of the contemporary Left as a whole,
leads to the type of random and ineffectual activism we
ultimately regret, but at the same time cannot quite let
go of. | P